For People and Things
by AGirloftheSouth
Summary: Set after the events in Will the Wind Ever Remember, after a fight with Sherlock John hears from another old friend.  Sherlock is not happy about it.  Rated M for language.
1. Chapter 1

A/N – Thanks to ScopesMonkey who managed to get this idea into my head by mentioning that she liked Phillip. She also once again was the beta on this. She continually makes my work better than it would be. Vielen Dank! It will be beneficial to the understanding of this story if you have read my previous work, but you won't be lost if you haven't. You just won't understand some of the references. Do as you wish!

Warnings- Dirty words galore.

Disclaimer- Nope, still don't own them.

People and Things

For people and things that went before  
>I know I'll often stop and think about them<br>In my life I love you more. ~ The Beatles

The rattle of the pans, the loud thump, and the "what the fuck?" that comes from the kitchen as John hits the floor reminds Sherlock that he forgot to pick up after going through the cabinets last night. He shoots out of bed and races down the stairs. He's halfway there when John screams up at him.

"Sherlock, get the fuck down here!" That's two curse words; he knows John is angry now. He doesn't like it when John is angry with him. His chest is already tight in anticipation of the yelling. He hates the yelling the most.

"Right h-" Sherlock starts, but stops when he sees blood. His chest tightens for a different reason. John's hurt.

The detective manoeuvers skillfully through the pots to where John is lying on the floor. He squats down next to his husband and receives a glare of anger in return.

"What the fuck is this?" His voice is so loud that it hurts Sherlock's ears. It certainly will alert Mrs. Hudson to the fact that there is something going on up here - assuming of course John crashing to the ground didn't do that.

"Let me see," Sherlock says, wanting to see the elbow first. John is also bleeding from his forehead but that is a superficial scratch. There isn't much blood, the elbow of his shirt is soaked through. Sherlock is starting on the cuff when John snatches his arm away.

"What. The. Fuck. Is. This?" He gestures with his uninjured arm before placing that hand on the hurt elbow.

"I needed the dark cabinet space for a mould…"

"And somehow leaving everything spread on the kitchen floor seemed like a good idea. Bloody brilliant Sherlock. Bloody fucking brilliant."

Four curse words. Sherlock cringes but reaches for John again, "Let me…"'

"NO," John yells and struggles to stand. There is blood on the floor, not much, but enough that John slides on it. He has to reach out and grab the counter with his injured arm and winces in pain. Sherlock winces in sympathy as he raises his arms to catch John if need be.

"Fuck," John says again.

"You're leg is…" Sherlock has just noticed the rip in John's trousers. He is scraped up there too, and bleeding.

"I'm very well aware that my leg is bleeding, Sherlock. Thank you." Sherlock leans back as the words snap at him. He stands in a smooth movement, feeling the blood from the floor on his foot and noting a spot on his knee is well. It is inconsequential. John is injured.

He reaches for his husband but John steps back and glares at him again. "Let me look at it, please?" Sherlock asks, but even the pleasantry doesn't get him what he wants. John, almost always pleasant John, snarls at him.

"I'm going to go get a change of clothes, get a cab, and go to work, where I'll probably have to have stitches in my elbow. Hope the mould experiment goes well." The words slap Sherlock across the face. John storms past him, kicking the pots and pans out of the way. Each clang as they bang against the cabinet makes Sherlock cringe. John was hurt because of him. He hurt John. It aches in him as he turns to follows John up the stairs.

He enters the bedroom as John limps from the closet to the bed. He's pulled down a duffle and throws a dress shirt into it, and follows it with a pair of trousers. Sherlock walks over and pulls them out, refolding them so they won't be too wrinkled when John got to the clinic. John glares at him as he walks towards the dresser. Sherlock joins him and removes a new pair of boxers and a pair of socks.

"I'm sorry," he says as he adds the new items to the duffle, "I forgot…"

"Of course you are, Sherlock. You are always sorry." He shakes his head as he grabs the duffle and moves past the detective. Sherlock follows him. John stops in the bathroom and grabs a towel from the linen closet. It is one of the "good ones" that Sherlock isn't allowed to use to clean up his experiments. He almost points this out to John but doubts that it will be a welcome realisation. Instead he walks over and helps John tie it around his elbow. He's relieved that John doesn't pull away again.

"I'm sorry," Sherlock says again but John doesn't acknowledge it. As soon as the towel is tied John moves away. Sherlock's chest aches more as John stalks past him, grabs the duffle, and heads down the stairs.

Sherlock hears the door slam and creeps back down the stairs. He goes into the kitchen and sees the offending items spread across the kitchen floor. They hurt John. He hurt John. His stomach aches as he bends over to pick up the first one.

* * *

><p>Sherlock waited three hours before he sent John a text inquiring about his wellbeing. When he hears the phone announce a reply he's ecstatic. John could have just ignored him. A reply is better than that.<p>

As soon as he reads the message though his relief abandons him, "6 stitches in the elbow, 3 in the leg, giant knot on the forehead covered with an ice pack and it appears I'll have a black eye." Sherlock's stomach aches again. He almost types another apology, but stops himself. He's already apologised, and he is aware that it isn't enough. John hasn't called him, so he is still angry.

Sometimes when John is angry he only gets angrier if Sherlock keeps apologising. He's explained to Sherlock several times that just because the detective apologises that doesn't mean that John stops being angry right away. Sherlock doesn't like that but he can do as John asks. He's apologised twice, that is enough.

He sighs and sets his phone aside. He picks it up again and sends John a message telling him to feel better and to let him know if he needs to pick up anything at the store. He doesn't get a reply. He didn't expect to.

He opens his laptop and glares at the floor of the kitchen as he waits for it to boot up.

He opens his email first with the intention of seeing if he has any new potential clients. He doesn't but he does have a notification that John posted a new blog. He frowns, he knows that the blog will be a brief account of the morning's events. He opens it and it is.

_Well This Morning Was Shit_

_Ripped Trousers_

_Ruined Shirt_

_Bump on the head_

_Black Eye_

_6 stitches just below my elbow_

_3 stitches on the outside of my thigh_

_A headache_

_A disaster in the kitchen_

_Blood on the floor_

_And all of this before lunch._

_I hope all of you are having a better day than me._

Sherlock frowns again; even angry John won't blame him. A part of him is relieved at that and a part of him is ashamed. He thinks he'd feel better if John would rant at him, either in person or online. He won't though, it isn't John's way.

He opens the blog to add a comment but stops. He doesn't know what he's going to say. He can't apologise, he won't take the blame, he won't say anything. He closes the box and reads the comments that have already been posted.

_Harry Watson – What happened? Call me. Do you need anything?_

_Bill Murray – Ouch!_

_Phillip Hannover – Horrible. Hope you feel better._

Phillip Hannover. Sherlock stares at the name. Phillip Hannover.

He recognises the name right away. The little icon next to his name confirms it. It's Phillip. Phillip, John's Phillip with the plebian name. The Phillip John was involved with at Uni. The Phillip John said he hadn't talked to in ten years. The Phillip who lived in New Zealand.

The Phillip who had aged very, very well.

Sherlock enlarges the photo and stares at the man. He has dark hair and a dark complexion. His eyes are hidden by sunglasses but Sherlock knows they are brown. He's seen pictures of the man while he and John were in Wellow a few months ago. They'd talked about Phillip. Phillip who was sitting on the bench with his arm thrown over John's shoulder.

Sherlock hates him. He is still very attractive.

Sherlock snarls at him. How dare he comment on John's blog?

Then just as suddenly he realises that this must not be the first post he's commented on. Sherlock hasn't checked the blog in several days, and he only checks the older posts sporadically. He frowns and scrolls to the beginning of John's blog.

Phillip's first comment is on the blog about John meeting up with is rugby mates. An entry before Sherlock had met John.

_Phillip Hannover – Hi John. Hope all is well, back in the UK for a while. I Googled to see if I could find out anything about you and found this. Afghanistan, huh? I'm off to read the rest of this blog, but I hope things have gotten better over the last few years for you. Are you still in contact with the rugby boys?_

Sherlock frowns again. The comment was left two days ago. He doubts John has had time to read it yet. His husband hasn't blogged in four days and John never checks the comments when he doesn't post. He also knows that John wouldn't have read them while typing up the quick blog entry he did today, not while he was at the clinic.

He starts moving through the entries searching the comments. There are nothing more than a few random comments from Phillip. He commented on a picture of Sarah and John at a football match. He says that she is pretty. He commented on a blog about one of their cases saying that it sounds interesting.

_Idiot, _Sherlock thinks. It was a boring case. He'd been annoyed that John had even bothered to blog about it.

The next comment he finds is on one of the blog entries that Sherlock has read over and over. It's one of his favourites. He's disgusted that the Phillip has felt compelled to tarnish it with his comment.

_For Those Who Don't Know…_

_It's official. In a relationship. Most of you probably have figured it out by now, or assumed it all along, but we've made the jump. Sherlock and I are a couple. Yeah, I never thought I'd say that either, but it's true._

_For those interested in the details, it started about a month ago and it's going very well so far. I'm happy and have every reason to believe that he is as well. He says so anyway and it'd be futile to lie to me after all ;). We've kept it quiet thus far for obvious reasons, but I think both of us are tired of hiding._

_We are happy and we (read as I) are ready to share it with everyone._

_Well wishes are appreciated. Thanks._

The entry is followed by a picture of the two of them that John had insisted on taking for the purposes of the blog. Sherlock had not been interested in the task but had agreed to it reluctantly. Since it was posted he comes to this blog on a semi-regular basis just to look at the picture. He always intends to print a copy and add it to the physical collection that he keeps, but he never has.

He likes coming here to view it. He likes that it is the only place in the world with this photo exists.

He stares at Phillip's comment with something akin to hatred.

_Phillip Hannover – Sherlock? He's handsome, John. You definitely still have a type. Glad to hear this. Great picture. Cute couple. _

Phillip Hannover had the nerve to look at this picture and comment on the attractiveness of them as a couple.

He moves through looking for the next one. He finds it on one of the blogs about their trip to New Orleans. The blog is about the cemeteries and their various states of disrepair. There are several photos of Sherlock looking into broken mausoleums and examining markers. It had been a fascinating experience and Sherlock remembers it fondly.

Underneath Phillip Hannover wrote, _"Cemeteries? I could do without those. The rest of New Orleans is amazing though. Didn't we used to talk about going there? Glad you enjoyed Preservation Hall in the previous entry though. I can't believe you are involved with someone who doesn't love jazz? I can't believe that there are people who don't love jazz! :)"_

The comment is intended to be lighthearted and perhaps humorous, but Sherlock is personally offended by it. Phillip and John talked about going there, why, when? _He_ went to New Orleans with John, not Phillip. He should not be permitted to comment on these things, to judge Sherlock based on his lack of interest in jazz.

Jazz isn't music. Vivaldi is music. Mozart is music. He only tolerates jazz at all because John loves it. It's why he took John to Preservation Hall. It's why_ he_ surprised John with it. It's their memory. He glances at the wall in the hallway where he hung the photo of Preservation Hall that had belonged to John's father. It is their memory and Phillip Hannover has no business commenting on it. He has no business judging him. John loves him despite his dislike of jazz. It is not an issue between them, that he knows of.

Phillip goes a long time without commenting on any of the entries after that. Sherlock starts to wonder if perhaps Phillip stopped reading. The detective even begins to enjoy rereading the blogs again, especially the ones about the wedding and the honeymoon and the first anniversary and the second anniversary where John didn't mention Sebastian at all. In fact, Sebastian is never once mentioned by name in the blog.

He sees that Phillip has commented on a short post. In the entry that had originally preceded this one John had made a comment on their Christmas celebrations. He had suggested that the two of them had spent all of Christmas and all of Boxing Day in bed. They had, but Sherlock hadn't liked it being written about. Granted, John hadn't come out and stated it, but it was clearly implied. Everyone, even the idiots, had understood.

The day after Sherlock read the blog he'd left a note on the counter. "Please do not blog about our shagging again." He'd been too embarrassed about being embarrassed to tell John to his face. He'd checked later and the entry had been deleted. The blog that Phillip commented on replaced it.

_An Apology_

_I owe my husband an apology. I was inconsiderate in blogging about him without his consent. I have happily deleted the offending blog and offer my sincerest apologies to Sherlock._

_I love you and I'm sorry._

Sherlock was the only one who'd commented on this entry previously. Phillip had taken it upon himself to add something.

_Phillip Hannover – Now I wish I'd discovered the blog earlier and found out what happened. I always miss the good stuff. Nice apology though. I hope he forgave you. _

Of course he forgave him. Had this Phillip read Sherlock's comment he would have known that already. But he didn't, he just commented without consideration.

Idiot. Rude, inconsiderate idiot. Sherlock hates him even more.

The next comment Sherlock finds is on another entry about his experiments.

_The Disaster_

_I don't know which of you lovely people acquired the sulfuric acid for my husband. I don't want to know. But I want you to know that it has been a bang up success so far._

_I am now the owner of a new dining room table, a new couch, two new rugs, a new laundry basket, several pots and pans (a precautionary measure), and we will probably have to have new kitchen counters put in soon, along with a new banister._

_Oh, I forgot to mention the acid burns that Sherlock gave to himself. My day is now not complete until I've had to hold a fork for him because his fingers hurt too much._

_Thank you yet unnamed, masked person. No worries, Sherlock absolutely refuses to reveal his sources so I won't be coming to kill you in your sleep. However a giant pile of anonymous cash would be well received. I have furniture loans to pay off._

Sherlock still feels guilty about that incident and his fingers still hurt when he thinks about it. John had been very angry then, too. Very angry, but hadn't yelled at Sherlock because he'd been hurt. He'd never yelled at Sherlock because of it even though Sherlock knew perfectly well he deserved it.

And Phillip had felt compelled to comment.

_Phillip Hannover – Wow, interesting life you're leading. Fun all over the place! _

Of course they have fun, they have fun all the time. Just because one of his experiments had gone wrong, or a few experiments… It doesn't matter because John has fun. John is happy, even if he's angry sometimes. Just because he's angry doesn't mean he doesn't love Sherlock. He'd told Sherlock that more than once early in their relationship and John isn't a liar.

Sherlock frowns and moves through the remaining entries. The last comment he finds from Phillip, outside of the one he posted today, is on the entry where John talks about going back to Wellow. It's easily the longest piece John has ever written and parts of it are hard for Sherlock to read. So he doesn't. He does look at the end of the post though, at a picture of him.

Towards the end of the entry John wrote about some of the good things that had happened on the trip. It was basically a two paragraph tribute to the detective for being supportive to John through the ordeal and his excitement about going through John's old things.

Sherlock loves that.

The picture is of Sherlock on the train on the way back. He'd been staring out the window and looking particularly pale because of the dark color of his shirt. The silver metal chain stood out against the dark material and Sherlock was absently holding one of the dog tags between his thumb and index finger. The caption on the picture said, "My favorite image from the trip. Finally found Sherlock a set of dog tags. I think he loves them."

Sherlock wears them often when he needs to think clearly or feel closer to John.

He reaches into the collar of his shirt and pulls them out. He'd put them on after his shower because John is mad at him. They help when John is mad at him. He does love them, which is why Phillips comment is such a blow.

_Phillip Hannover – You know I think I still have a set of your dog tags packed up somewhere. I saw them not that long ago, surprised the hell out of me. I can get them back to you if you want. As for the other stuff, I'm sorry you had to suffer through all that again. I remember how miserable you were the first time around. It appears you got some closure on it finally. I'm glad for that. Let me know if you ever want to talk about it._

What? Sherlock almost pushes the laptop to the floor. Why does Phillip have a set of John's dog tags? Why would John have given them to him? John never mentioned that before. And _closure _and _remember how miserable you were, _how dare he? Sherlock helped John through this. Sherlock went to Wellow and met the Bensons. Sherlock, not Phillip. Had the idiot even read the end of the blog post? Sherlock helped John. John had said so.

Sherlock frowns, going back to the front page and the most recent blog post. He glares at it, the lines about John's stitches and black-eye. He'd just forgotten to pick the pots and pans up. People forget things, even him, it's only natural. He isn't perfect. John forgets things too, and quite often. Important things, and just because Sherlock can't think of an example right now doesn't mean it doesn't happen.

He's just about to close the laptop when he notices that there is another comment on today's blog. It's from John, his John.

_John Watson – Wow, Phillip. How are you? Just saw the notification for your comments, it's great to hear from you. My email address is on the right of the page there. Send me an email and we'll try to get together while you are in the UK. I hope all is well and I hope to hear from you. _

Sherlock's heart drops. John wants to see him. He doesn't understand why. Why does John want to see this Phillip that he hasn't been in contact with for ten years? This still handsome man who has a set of John's dog tags and knows some of John's secrets.

Sherlock glances at the kitchen and remembers six stitches in the elbow, three in the leg, a bump on the head and black eye. All John did was walk into the kitchen.

Sherlock frowns and his heart aches. Why _wouldn't_ John want to talk to this still attractive man who still has a set of his dog tags?


	2. Chapter 2

A/N – Thanks, again, to ScopesMonkey. :o)

John reaches into his desk to grab his cell phone when it rings. His head is aching, especially just underneath the knot on his forehead. He desperately wants to get some sleep, but if he goes home he'll have to deal with Sherlock. He isn't ready for that yet. His elbow aches just thinking about it.

The display shows Mrs. Hudson's number and the doctor groans. It's never a good thing when she calls.

"Hello," he says, leaning his head back and closing his eyes.

"Hello, dear," she says. "I saw your blog, how are you feeling?"

He smiles at the idea of Mrs. Hudson reading his blog. She probably checked it after hearing the argument this morning.

"My head hurts and I'm sore but otherwise okay. How are you?"

"Perfect, dear," she says. "I'm calling about Sherlock."

Figures. "What's he doing?" John asks, dreading the answer.

She pauses a moment. "He's cleaning, actually cleaning. He just asked to borrow my mop because he couldn't find where you keep yours."

"It's in the upstairs closet," he says realising that has nothing to do with anything. "Did another experiment go wrong?" The only reason Sherlock cleans is because he's done something he isn't supposed to and doesn't want John to know. John always knows though.

"I assumed so, naturally. However, he's doing laundry. I've never seen him use the washing machine before. When I heard him in there I thought he might be taking it apart again." John nods; Sherlock had decided that he needed the agitator about a year ago. "He was putting clothes in though. Very strange, dear. I thought that you should know."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson," John says. "I'm probably going to leave here early. I'll figure out what's going on."

"Of course," she says. "Feel better, love. I hope that the domestic this morning wasn't too serious."

"No. It's fine," he lies. He's still pretty pissed.

"Good. Glad to hear it. I'll see you later, dear, feel better."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson. Good-bye."

John rings off and tosses the phone onto his desk. He brings his hand up and runs it carefully over his face. What an odd day: stitches, ruined clothes, head injury, Sherlock cleaning, and being contacted by Phillip Hannover.

He just wants to go home and sleep and hit the reset button for tomorrow. Sherlock won't let that happen though. Sherlock will probably insist on apologising again and again until John forgives him. Or rather, annoy John until he decides it isn't worth being angry anymore. God, he doesn't want to go through that tonight.

He wonders momentarily if that's why Sherlock is cleaning, to apologise. He doubts it. He knows that the mould experiment will be over when he gets home. The pots and pans will be returned to where they belong and Sherlock will be in denial that it ever happened.

He'll feel bad about the injuries though. Sherlock feels guilty enough when John is just angry but John's never been hurt by an experiment before. Perhaps that's enough to get Sherlock to clean.

He still doubts it. He has no idea what would cause Sherlock to clean other than an experiment gone wrong.

John opens the scheduling programme on his computer. He's done for the day but he wants to check that none of the other doctors in the office are going to need him to cover patients. He's relieved to see that the afternoon appointment blocks are mostly empty. He can leave with no problem. In fact, he probably won't be the only one.

He opens his email programme to make sure there are no pressing patient issues to be handled and he sees that an email from Phillip in his personal account. He smiles, still surprised to have heard from him. He'd noticed the notifications this morning when he'd posted his quick blog. It had made him laugh. He couldn't remember the last time he spoke to Phillip.

He opens the new email and reads through it.

_Hi there, _

_I see from your blog that life appears to be going very well for you. Glad to hear it. Glad you are happy. I'll be back in London in two weeks. Would you like to do dinner one night? I'd love to meet this husband of yours, he sounds fascinating. I have one, too, well not legally, but technically. He's a Kiwi, Kenneth. He's still in Wellington finishing up the business with selling our house and stuff there. He'll probably be another month. I'd love you to meet him though, and he you. My mom passed away last year so we are going to be settling here, in Leeds. _

_I hope we can get together soon._

_Phillip. _

John replies quickly, giving Phillip his mobile number and saying he'll check with Sherlock, but that he'll be there for sure. He smiles again, excited to see Phillip again. They'd always had a great time together.

It's just as he hit sends that he realises that Sherlock has probably checked the blog this morning. John groans and buries his face in his palm.

Jealousy. That would explain the cleaning.

* * *

><p>Mrs. Hudson is standing in the hall when he walks in. She has a troubled look on her face and is staring up at the flat above her. The reason is obvious as soon as John is completely inside.<p>

The smell.

"Is he cooking something?" John asks. Mrs. Hudson turns to him and nods.

"I believe so, dear. There have been some worrying noises coming from the kitchen."

He groans again, slamming his hand on the banister and pulling himself up the stairs. It smells like garlic, a lot of it. Garlic cooking in butter. It's normally such an appealing smell, but the overwhelming odour combined with the pounding in his head is making him nauseous. He can actually feel his stomach churning as he reaches the top of the stairs. He contemplates going up to the bathroom and getting sick before going into the kitchen but decides against it. If he starts vomiting that will only throw Sherlock more out of whack.

"Sherlock?" he calls as he tosses his bag down. He pulls his coat off and tosses it over the arm of the sofa as he turns towards the kitchen. He closes his eyes a moment, trying to calm his stomach, and opens them just as Sherlock pops his head around the wall. John jumps back, startled, and Sherlock frowns.

"Hello," the detective says tentatively stepping fully into the living room and looking at his husband. "You don't look well, John." He pauses, glancing at the knot on John's head. "I mean in addition to the injuries."

John nods and his head starts to swim. He needs to open the window. He needs to stop the cooking. He needs to get sick.

"What in the hell are you doing?" he asks, moving past Sherlock and into the kitchen.

"Cooking," the detective says as if it should be obvious. If cooking implies that the food should be edible, then he is mistaken as to what he is doing.

"Yes, I got that," John replies, unable to keep the snappishness out of his voice. This fiasco is doing nothing to help John's general aggravation with Sherlock. "I mean what in the hell are you cooking?"

"Oh," Sherlock responds. He reaches to the counter where he grabs a sheet of paper and hands it to John.

The doctor looks at it but is unable to focus on the words. They swim in front of his eyes. He pushes it back at Sherlock, "There is no way it calls for this much garlic, Sherlock. We need to open the window. I'm going to be sick."

That's enough - Sherlock frowns but moves quickly to the living room. John leans against the counter and closes his eyes. He hears the windows being opened. The doctor takes a deep breath through his mouth and grabs the pan that is the source of the odour and puts it in the sink. He turns the water on and listens to the sizzle as the water boils off, cooling the pan. He turns the water off and stumbles into the living room.

He hears Sherlock moving around, but doesn't look for him. He focuses on the sofa and keeps his eyes on it. He settles on the end closest to the windows and sits down. He gulps in a breath of fresh air and feels better almost instantly. He gulps in another and the nausea subsides enough for him to look around the room.

Sherlock is standing on the other side of the coffee table frowning over at him. He's a mess: dirty, dusty, and covered in unknown food products. John contains another groan.

"I'm sorry," Sherlock says and John can see the pain there. He thinks he's done two things wrong in the same day. Sherlock hates to do wrong things.

John just nods his head. "It's okay. It's just too much garlic."

Sherlock sits down in his chair and continues to stare at John. "It said use three cloves. We had four of them, so I used three."

John holds up hand. "We had four _heads _of garlic Sherlock, not four cloves. The cloves are the little parts that break off the head."

He watches the detective's eyes go wide, realising his error. John would laugh if he was feeling better or if his flat wasn't going to smell like garlic for the next year.

"I'm sor-" John holds his hand up again.

"Don't apologise, Sherlock, you didn't know. Mistakes happen. It's okay."

Sherlock crosses his arm and sits back in the chair. He's going to sulk, disappointed with himself. It annoys John but he pushes the feeling down. Yelling is going to get him nowhere and it's uncalled for. Sherlock made a mistake, even the World's Only Consulting Detective is entitled to a few now and again.

"Why were you cooking?" John asks him, pretty sure he knows the actual answer but interested to see what Sherlock is going to say.

The detective continues to frown and looks away. He isn't going to answer it at all, John realises. Usually means he's embarrassed.

"How about the cleaning, will you tell me why you cleaned?" Sherlock doesn't move.

John leans back on the couch, annoyed again. "You don't get to be angry, Sherlock. I'm the one who has stitches and an aching head. I'm not the one who's made the flat anti-vampire. I get to be mad right now. Not you."

The detective's head shoots around. John doesn't miss the flash of panic in those grey eyes, but Sherlock quickly plasters indifference on his features. John knows better though.

"I have apologised for…"

"Yes you have, but an apology doesn't mean that I'm done being angry, especially if you are going to act deaf, dumb, and blind over there."

Sherlock straightens and manages to push himself farther into the chair and away from John. John sighs and deliberately sits forward, opening up his body. He moves to put his elbows on his knees but remembers his stitches just in time. He puts his hands there instead and meets his husband's eyes.

"Is this about the blog? About Phillip?" Sherlock looks shocked for a moment. He often does when John manages to figure something out.

They stare at each other, John refusing to let his gaze waver. After a moment Sherlock nods and slouches down.

"Why did he look for you now?" he asks and John shakes his head.

"I don't know, Sherlock. You'd have to ask him. I haven't spoken to him in, I don't know, ten years. I have no idea what his motivations might be. If I had to guess though, I'd think he was making contact with an old friend. People do that sometimes, sentiment you know."

"You weren't _friends_ John, you had sex with him."

"I have sex with you. Aren't we friends?" John can tell that Sherlock doesn't like that one, because they are. He wants to say that it's different but can't figure out how.

John sighs again, rubbing his palms into his eyes, careful to avoid the knot on his forehead. He wants to go to sleep, he wants to take some medicine and climb into bed and hope that he feels better in the morning.

He doesn't want to go through this with Sherlock.

He hears Sherlock stand and walk away. He hears his husbands footsteps on the stairs and a moment later he hears them come back down and walk into the kitchen.

He looks up as Sherlock enters the living room again. He's holding a bottle of pills and a glass of water. John smiles inside, amazed yet again at the complex contradictions that make up his husband. Angry to sulking to caretaker in less than five minutes.

He accepts the pills and water and offers Sherlock thanks. A second later Sherlock is back in his chair, sulking again.

John looks at him a moment, before looking towards the floor. "Sherlock," he looks up to meet his husband's eyes, "do you think I'm unhappy with you? Do you think I want to leave you or cheat on you?"

John's heart breaks a little as Sherlock looks away. The detective shakes his head, but doesn't turn back.

John nods, looking towards the window.

"I hurt you this morning," Sherlock says. John doesn't look towards him, hoping he'll keep talking. "The experiments annoy you. You don't like all of my cases. I don't help you with chores, or cooking, or anything. I'm selfish."

John almost laughs as he turns back, almost. Sherlock is still looking away.

"Look at me please," John asks. Sherlock turns reluctantly. "I'm interested in meeting with Phillip because he's a part of my past, a pleasant part, and I'd like to catch up with him. I'm going to dinner with him in two weeks." Sherlock sinks deeper into the chair, frowning even more. "And you're coming with me. He wants to meet you."

John watches Sherlock's brow furrow. "His husband won't be in the UK for another month or so, but when he gets here Phillip wants us to meet him, too."

The creases in the forehead deepen.

"He friended you on Facebook," Sherlock states as if that is some definitive action on anything.

"Is that the Facebook account that you created for me that I don't know the password for because you won't tell me what it is?" Sherlock manages to work his face into a glare. "Because I know that I'm not as smart as you, but I certainly hope that I'm smart enough to tell my potential lovers not to contact me through the social media accounts that my husband controls."

"Potential lovers?" Sherlock asks, choosing to focus on two words instead of the obvious sarcasm. He's losing the fight and he knows it. John allows his lips to turn upwards.

"I was being facetious and you are well aware of it. And since you obviously have some doubts let me clarify for you. I love you, Sherlock." The detectives face softens as John knew it would. He keeps going though, wanting to drive the point home. "I love everything that you are with everything that I am. You're it for me, the only one. I have never sat around this flat and wished you would stop doing experiments. I love watching you do experiments because they are a part of who you are. Sometimes I wish you'd leave me a note telling me there are pots on the floor or that there is blood in the fridge or not to almost drink the milk that has the hydrochloric acid mixed with it. But I won't limit you any more than I already have. I'd rather have the experiments that end with me in stitches than none at all because the experiments are a part of you."

John takes a breath and Sherlock relaxes in his chair. "I'd like it if I was granted more consideration - I think ever spouse wants that - but I'm honestly not complaining. I'm honoured to be the one person that the great Sherlock Holmes can stand to be around for more than an hour. I'm proud to be loved by you. I will never cheat on you. I will never leave you."

"But ,,, " the detective starts.

"No buts. I'm stating facts here, there is no room for debate. I need to add though that just because I accept the experiments and doing all the housework and cooking doesn't mean that I don't get to be angry about it sometimes. I know you don't like it when I'm angry but I'm allowed to be. And I'm allowed to have friends and Phillip is one of them. He's a part of my past and a part that I remember fondly. Being friends with him takes away absolutely nothing from my relationship with you. I don't have a finite amount of affection, Sherlock. I can love you and be friends with him at the same time."

John watches as Sherlock stares at him. He can almost hear the gears turning, thoughts processing. Once again he's looking for an out but can't immediately find it.

"He still has a set of your dog tags," the detective states suddenly and John is confused.

"What?" Sherlock pulls the silver chain out from under his shirt and holds the tags out so that John can see them. John almost rolls his eyes, obviously he wasn't confused about what dog tags were.

"He said in one of his comments that he found a pair of your dog tags. He asked you if you wanted them back. Didn't you read his comments?" It's a momentary flash of superiority for the detective but John cuts him down quickly.

"No, just the last one really. I don't blog for the comments, especially if the entry is almost five years old."

Sherlock frowns, "Well, he says he has a pair and wants to know if you'd like him to return them."

"Do you want me to get them back?" John suspects the answer but wants Sherlock to say it.

"Of course. Your ex-lover wearing your dog tags is an unappealing idea." John almost smiles again. He doubts Phillip is wearing them around. He honestly doesn't remember giving Phillip a set, but during the last 2 years of their relationship the two of them more or less lived together. It's not surprising that there was some mix up of belongings.

"Then I'll ask for them back." Sherlock nods, that apparently is a victory for him in some way. John has no idea how.

"He suggested that you should not be with me because I do not like jazz."

John wants to question again, not really understanding, but instead of an answer he'll probably get a tirade on the origins of jazz music.

"Well that's the pot calling the kettle there. He always hated jazz. I could never get him to go to any of the concerts with me."

Sherlock looks puzzled by this. "I used to get annoyed with him when he wouldn't consent to go, even for my birthday or Christmas. He didn't like it and wouldn't go. He was obviously making a joke."

"I go to concerts with you," Sherlock states as if John were unaware of this. "I don't like it but I go."

"I know that," John says smiling. "I appreciate it, you know that. You'll also go to football if I make you. You hate that too, but you go because of me. Thank you."

Sherlock nods, feeling smug for a moment. John smiles at him, amazed that he is no longer angry about the pots and pans or the stitches. He can never stay angry at Sherlock very long.

He's still tired, though, and wants to sleep.

"I'll go with you to meet this Phillip." John had no doubt that his husband would make the trip. "Although I am certain that I will dislike him."

"Perhaps," John says, but he suspects that Sherlock will actually like Phillip despite himself. "As long as you promise not to be rude, I will not ask you to like him."

Sherlock nods again, agreeing to the terms. John smiles.

"I'm going to nap, my head is killing me." Sherlock frowns and turns to John. John knows he's evaluating him for his injuries now, concerned about his wellbeing.

John stands and moves over to the chair. He runs his fingers quickly through his husband's dark curls.

"Clean up the kitchen please." Sherlock nods. "You can probably bin the pan. And shower, you smell atrocious." Sherlock smiles up at him and John leans down for a kiss. He aches as he does so, but fights off a wince. Sherlock doesn't need to see that.

John straightens and walks towards the stairs.

* * *

><p>John rolls over and hits his elbow. It wakes him as he sucks in a breath, moving to cradle the injured area. It's dark outside. He notices that he's cold, which is not surprising as they have the bedroom window open to alleviate the still pungent garlic odour.<p>

He feels Sherlock adjust in the bed next to him and hears his voice a second later, "What? Are you all right?"

John nods even though his husband is facing the other direction, "Hit my elbow."

Sherlock rolls over then, settling on his back. The grey eyes examine his husband in the dark room. He holds his arm out and John settles underneath it. John throws his injured arm and leg over his husband. A second later he feels gentle lips against his forehead as he settles his head on his husband's shoulder.

The doctor closes his eyes and feels sleep returning. The steady heartbeat beneath his ear helps lead the way. It's the most familiar noise in the world.

"I love you, too," the detective whispers. John smiles, fingers settle on the back of the doctor's head. Their easy movements help drive the now constant ache away.

He knows his injuries won't wake him up again. Sherlock won't allow it.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N – Once again, thanks to ScopesMonkey not only for making this better, but for assuring me that Phillip was indeed quite likeable. Thanks!

Sherlock pulls on his scarf, making it tighter around his neck. John glances at him and Sherlock doesn't miss the knowing smirk. He sighs as the light turns and they start to walk.

"I'm not nervous," Sherlock says. He's not.

"Of course not," John says.

"Don't patronise me," Sherlock snaps, allowing genuine annoyance to enter his voice.

John just shakes his head. They walk in silence. They turn the corner and John holds his hand out. Sherlock interlocks their fingers with feigned irritation. It doesn't fool the doctor.

"Thank you for doing this," John says. "I know you don't want to."

"I certainly wouldn't willingly consent to your meeting him alone."

John chuckles and squeezes his husband's fingers. "Of course not," he repeats. Sherlock reaches up to straighten his scarf again. He doesn't miss John's smile.

John pulls him through the door of the restaurant, giving his fingers another tight squeeze before releasing them.

They stop in the doorway and look around. Sherlock spots Phillip sitting in a table on the right side and is about to point him out when he stands.

"John!" He waves and Sherlock watches his husband's face light up with genuine excitement and interest. Not true affection though - he feels a flash of relief at that.

Sherlock trusts John; he doesn't trust emotions. What if John spontaneously realises that he still as feelings for Phillip? As he watches John he realises that is not going to happen. He's pleased by this.

The doctor brushes his hand over Sherlock's then he moves towards the table. The detective smiles to himself, knowing that John did it deliberately. Sherlock works to suppress the distaste as John and Phillip hug. It turns his stomach to see someone else touch his husband. He plasters a pleasant smile on my face as John pulls back. The doctor wraps his arm around Sherlock's waist and gestures to him.

"Phillip, my husband Sherlock Holmes." John looks up at his husband, "Sherlock, my old friend Phillip Hannover."

_Old friend, _Sherlock notes the terminology but he still feels it is inaccurate.

Sherlock holds his hand out, surprised to see a smile of genuine interest on Phillip's face. He hadn't quite believed that his husband's ex-lover had been interested in meeting him. He had been wrong.

"Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Holmes." His accent is clearly English in origin, but it is tainted, weakened by years abroad. Sherlock can clearly pick out the hint of New Zealand coming through.

"Sherlock," the detective responds. Phillip nods and gestures to the table for them to sit. John takes the far seat and Sherlock moves in next to him. Phillip sits across from Sherlock and settles his elbows on the table.

"Oh, before I forget," Phillip says suddenly. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the silver chain with the two tags hanging from it. Sherlock looks to John as the doctor reaches out to take them. He smiles at them for a minute before handing them to Sherlock.

"Here you go. You've got a spare set now." The detective takes them, puts them over his neck and drops them beneath his shirt. He looks up at Phillip to see if there is any judgment or humour there. There isn't, just curious interest, perhaps understanding.

He offers Sherlock a smile, than clasps his hands together. "Well, to be completely truthful," Phillip says, "I was so excited when John told me that you were available to join us. I'm fascinated by John's blog entries about you and by your website. Your career is amazing."

His smile increases his attractiveness; Sherlock would classify it as charming. It's very friendly and welcoming and changes his whole face.. It's obvious why this man was able to pull John out of a dark place. Phillip Hannover is the type of person who makes everything surrounding him a little brighter. Sherlock can tell the man is rarely angry and, based on the lines around his eyes and mouth, laughs quite frequently.

"Even your experiments, I haven't been in a lab since uni and you have one set up in your kitchen. Amazing."

Sherlock smiles despite himself. John has always accused him of being susceptible to flattery.

"Your deductive abilities, did you teach them to yourself or is it something that you've just always done?"

Sherlock turns to his husband, John is sitting back in the chair, arms crossed. He has the look on his face that he gets when Sherlock has been particularly brilliant. Sherlock has learned to identify this as pride. John is proud of him. It makes him feel warm inside as he turns back to Phillip and starts to explain.

"The vast majority of it I have trained myself to do. However, intellect is obviously something to which I was predisposed."

"Obviously," Phillip says and looks to John. Sherlock glances at his husband and sees that John is still happy and slightly amused. Phillip stares at him for another second before sitting back in his chair. "Fascinating. I'm going to ask you a question, but please feel free to say no. I really don't intend for it to sound like I'm asking you to do a parlour trick. I, well, reading John's blog, and maybe he's biased," he looks to John and offers him a smile. "But he described how you read people. Can you give me a demonstration?"

Sherlock frowns and then looks to John. His husband shrugs slightly, leaving the decision up to him. Sherlock sits back and looks at Phillip. He examines him for a moment and determines that he is genuinely interested. He isn't doing this to make fun of Sherlock.

"The woman over my right shoulder, pink blouse, black trousers." Phillip looks over his shoulder and Sherlock notices the slight movement of John's head as his husband looks as well. Phillip sees her and nods. "She is trying to seduce the man on her left. When she speaks to him she turns slightly in her chair. She traces the collar of her shirt focusing on section that is between her breasts. She also keeps pushing her hair off her face so she is confident enough to believe that her physical attractiveness is enough to please him. He is not interested in her, but in the man across the table from her. They - the two men - are sleeping together."

Phillip gasps out a laugh and looks at Sherlock. "In addition, she is recently divorced. There is still a line on her left finger, but it is not as pronounced as it once was. She's been on holiday recently and become very tan."

"Brilliant," Phillip says sitting back in his chair. His eyes go wide with amazement. "Absolutely fucking brilliant!" Sherlock preens at having impressed Phillip. "How did you get all of that though? Was it just in the few seconds it took you to walk over here? I mean, well, they're behind you." He holds up a finger as if to indicate which direction 'behind him' was.

Sherlock opens his mouth to answer, but John starts to laugh. They both look at him and he has an elbow on the table, burying his eyes into the hand. Phillip looks confused, but Sherlock understands. A second later John holds up his other hand and points to the area behind Phillip. "There's a mirror behind you," John says still chuckling.

Sherlock frowns at not being able to reveal his secret. Phillip turns immediately and spots the mirror, when he turns back Sherlock can see the slight redness in his cheeks. He's slightly embarrassed that he didn't realise that.

John starts to laugh harder. After a moment Phillip starts to laugh too. Sherlock watches the two of them fight to gain control over it, feeling left out of a joke. John reaches over and grips Sherlock's wrist.

"I'm sorry. Just, we had a friend at uni who didn't seem to understand what mirrors did. Long and truly not funny story." Phillip continues to chuckle across from them, but John offers Sherlock a pacifying smile. The doctor is very aware that Sherlock doesn't like to feel excluded.

"I can't believe I'd forgotten about…" Phillip's phones rings and he looks towards his pocket. "I'm sorry, Ken is supposed to call me about some paperwork on selling our house." Both Sherlock and John nod as Phillip stands.

"Hi honey," he answers as he heads to the door.

Sherlock turns to glare at John "Why do we not use endearments with each other?"

John starts to laugh again. "I don't know, would you like to try some, sweetheart?"

Sherlock snaps his head around, unable to hide the look of distaste. "No," he says, "Apparently not." John laughs some more.

They sit in silence for a moment, before Sherlock checks the mirror to make sure Phillip is still outside. "I can see why you find him appealing. He is very attractive and charming and appears to be of passable intelligence."

"He is," John says and Sherlock glances over to see his husband admiring him. John leans forward, placing his arm across the back of Sherlock's chair. "I still pick you," he says leaning in to place his lips against Sherlock's. It is quick since they are in public, but it settles the last bit of uncertainty in Sherlock's mind.

"Get a room, boys," Phillip says as he walks up behind them. John chuckles and pulls away, and Sherlock manages to not be offended.

Phillip takes his seat and looks back and forth between them. "House sold! Kenneth will be here in a week. I can't wait. These last three weeks have been horrendous. I am missing my man."

Sherlock sees the subtle shift in John and a moment later feels a hand on his thigh.

Phillip takes a moment, thinking, before the charismatic man returns and he looks at John. "So, tell me about going back to Wellow after all these years. That girl's daughter just ran away?"

Sherlock feels the fingers on his thigh tighten and he swallows down his instinctive reaction to John. He turns his head and watches his husband take a deep breath and listens as he begins to recount the events of the their trip there. It's different to hear him explain it to Phillip, someone who had been there for portions of it and who had been one of the few people on John's side. If nothing else, Sherlock is thankful for that.

* * *

><p>Sherlock sees the bathroom light go off and hears John head into the bedroom. He marks his place in the book and sets it aside. He settles his hands on his lap and waits. A moment later John walks into the room and smiles at him. He takes his watch off and sets it on the dresser.<p>

Sherlock admires him for a moment. John isn't wearing a shirt, he's wearing the bottoms from the cobalt blue pyjamas Sherlock bought a few months ago. They are Sherlock's current favorites because of what they do to his eyes. It isn't noticeable when he doesn't have the top on, but Sherlock prefers no top.

John stops at the end of the bed and meets his husband's eyes. "You liked him," he says.

Sherlock tries not to frown at the idea of Phillip being discussed in their bedroom. "He was tolerable."

John chuckles at that putting a knee on the bed. "I know better than that," he brings the other leg up placing it on the other side of Sherlock. "You liked him," John says as he begins to climb up his husband. Sherlock doesn't move, but John notices the pupils dilate. "You liked him and you don't like that you liked him."

Sherlock finally moves his hands as John settles on his lap, pressing his chest into the detectives. Sherlock feels the soft material of the pyjamas under his hands as he settles his long fingers on his husband's thighs. He digs his thumbs into his husband's hips bones and sighs as John settles on him.

"As I said, his company was not completely distasteful. I don't wish to speak about him right now though."

"No?" John says leaning over to place a kiss on Sherlock's lips. He darts his tongue out and traces along Sherlock's top lip, he pulls back when Sherlock tries to take more. "What would you like to speak about right now?"

Sherlock moves his hands back, sliding them under the waistband of John's bottoms. He gives his husband's ass a quick squeeze. "How about, 'Will these pants be coming off soon?'"

"Yes," John says. "Conversation over."

Sherlock chuckles and stretches his neck up. John pulls back refusing to kiss his husband.

"I am a little concerned, about your attraction to Phillip," John says. Sherlock pulls back but sees the humour in John's eyes. "You said at the restaurant that he was 'attractive and charming and appears to be of passable intelligence' from you that is high praise, I doubt you've ever said that about me."

Had John really doubted he would have reacted differently, but he confirms the humour and flirtation and then responds.

"Well, John, you are not of passable intelligence." John's eyebrow shoots up and Sherlock grins. The detective leans forward again, but John pulls back. Sherlock sighs with fake indignation, "Clearly your intelligence is far beyond passable. I wouldn't consent to your daily presence if it were otherwise."

John laughs and bends down kissing his husband again. He lets Sherlock deepen it this time and groans when Sherlock grabs his cheeks and forces him sideways. A second later John is underneath his husband, wrapping his legs around the pale hips.

Sherlock pulls on John's right arm. John lets him bring it up, this has become a familiar gesture over the last two weeks. He looks at the scar on the elbow, healed now, but still with a red tinge. It won't leave much of a mark, but Sherlock will always know where it is. He places his lips against it, then darts his tongue against the new, too-smooth skin.

He lets the arm drop then and shifts against his husband. John groans as Sherlock's abdomen drags across his growing erection. It makes the detective smile as he brings his face even with his husband's and presses a kiss against the tip of his nose.

"I love you, Sherlock Holmes," John says and Sherlock smiles as he moves to his husband's neck. John turns his head giving him more room.

"I love you," he mumbles against the skin between kisses. He feels John relax underneath him. And as his husband lets out a quiet moan, Sherlock is quietly thankful, not for the first time, the John picked him.


End file.
